I wish people wouldn’t poke fun of this book—it’s a delight. I don’t know another story that presents such a wondWho called this “The Scarlet Pimple?”
I wish people wouldn’t poke fun of this book—it’s a delight. I don’t know another story that presents such a wonderful reader-treat of Adventure, Romance and Comedy—and Fantasy, too—in equal parts.
I consider it Fantasy because . . .
1. of the huge suspension of disbelief one needs to accept the identity changes Sir Percy pulls off so spontaneously in so many adverse situations; and, 2. Isn’t it only in make-believe that a man, “in the madness of his love,” would kiss “one by one the places where her small foot had trodden, and the stone balustrade there, where her tiny hand had rested last?”
I bought it all, though, largely because the story took place so long ago it seemed almost anything might have happened—especially relayed in such fanciful language: “Do you wish to see me once more a love-sick suppliant at your feet, so that you might again have the pleasure of kicking me aside, like a trouble-some lap-dog?” (And Marguerite thought this man was dull?)
Speaking of language, let me just say, I’ll take “odd’s fish” any day over the current expletives used as almost every part of a sentence. (Variations of which I’m sure rang out in both “Chat Gris” and “The Fishermen’s Rest.”)
Even the scenes by the guillotine never did get quite grisly enough shatter the reassuring sense that forces of good would prevail in the end . . .
(Though it might have been nice if Sir Percy had kept just one pair of Marguerite’s shoes on his yacht!)
Last February I’d been desperately seeking something daft and the story’s premise fit the bill: Young man thrown off BrightonReviewed December 23, 2017
Last February I’d been desperately seeking something daft and the story’s premise fit the bill: Young man thrown off Brighton pier assists the guy who saves his life—The Perfect Master, Hugo Rune—in solving twelve bizarre conundrums . . .
Well! Those conundrums soon seemed all the same (a little too frat-boy silly for me), and I was down to a page a day—hanging on by the single threat of missing out on a nugget like this:
(Dialogue between our hero and a key recurring character)
“Case?’ said Fangio. Are you here on a case?” “Not much of one,” I said. “A bunch of missing cats.” “I don’t think it’s correct to refer to them as a bunch of cats,” said the leather-aproned barkeep. “That’s not the collective noun. I think you’ll find it’s a cabal of cats.” “You mean like a dirtiness of dogs?” “Not altogether like. More like a peregrination of pencils, or a hovering of Hoovers.” “Ah,” I said. “Well, you are into household appliances and appurtenances there, like a torturing of toasters. Although most folk only own the one. Or a philandering of forks—” “Or indeed, a spontaneity of spoons,” said Fange. “Yes, but that has more to do with the essential nature of spoons.” “It’s a philosophical concept,” said Fange, “like a dialectical materialisation of Doctor Martens, or a Freudian slip of slippers.” “And now you have moved on to the metaphysical realms of footwear,” I said, “which takes us seamlessly to a Lutheran dogma of loafers and a Papal nuncio of plimsolls. Or, and I am sure you will know this one, a scandal of sandals, which is from “Subterranean Homesick Blues” by Bob Dylan."
As another 'Good-reviewer' remarked, Rankin is an acquired taste....more
Nearing the end, I thought Pi’s tiger-taming adventure would wind up being a dream sequence (coma perhaps?), never expecting it might be a wide-awake fabrication designed to relate in the aftermath. (Missed clue: descriptions of Orange Juice--a dead give-away.)
One online analysis explains this kind of phenomenon as a presumably subconscious mechanism the brain employs to preserve itself when the body endures horrific stress. In Pi’s case though, the sanguine manner in which he recounts his odyssey suggests “subconscious” doesn’t apply. (hide spoiler)]
Nice. I like a twist at the end. For pure enjoyment, though, the start of the book appealed to me most. For sheer comedy, you just can’t beat the Pondicherry Zoo—or Pi’s zany comparative religious studies.
As for its flaws—I felt I was trapped too on the boat (lifeboat, that is). At times, I longed for rescue as much as Pi did. Fewer examples of finding food would have sufficed to make his point, and the excrement-tasting seemed overkill.
But I'm nitpicking! This provocative, lightly written yarn set just the right tone to start the new year. Psychology? Fantasy? As you like. It’s decidedly worth the accolades!
Who can resist it? Who among us doesn't adore the hero conceived in Faerie Land who goes back to retrieve a fallen star, then stays to prevent hMagic!
Who can resist it? Who among us doesn't adore the hero conceived in Faerie Land who goes back to retrieve a fallen star, then stays to prevent her returning to dust?
Loading...
